


As the Blossoms Fall

by garafthel (sister_wolf)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/garafthel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet again in Imladris, sixty years after the battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Blossoms Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote my first Hobbit story just under a year ago, never expecting that this would be the fandom that would take over my life. It has been an absolutely amazing year and I appreciate all of your comments and kudos more than I can possibly say.
> 
> And to express my sincere gratitude, I've written you a terribly sad story. Um. Sorry?
> 
> Warnings for canonical BOFA character deaths and mildly graphic battlefield violence.
> 
> ***
> 
> translations:   
> mae g'ovannen - you are well met  
> mellon nin - my friend

Bilbo sees her his second week in Rivendell among a group of Elves dismounting their horses in the main courtyard. Even his aged eyes cannot miss that flag of bright red hair among the more sedate coloring typical of the Elves of the hidden valley. 

"Tauriel?" he calls. 

He fears at first that she will not hear him over the noise of the bustling courtyard. His voice, along with his eyesight and his creaking limbs, is not what it was when last he saw her sixty years and a lifetime ago.

Tauriel turns, a brilliant smile crossing her face as she sees Bilbo. She looks exactly the same, he thinks. 

She pats her horse on the shoulder and hands the reins to a groom with a quiet word before walking across the courtyard to him. " _Mae g'ovannen_ , Bilbo Baggins. Long has it been since we last met."

Now that she is closer, he can see that she is not entirely unchanged. There is a scar running from her temple to her jaw along the right side of her face. Mixed with the bright auburn of her hair is a streak of white where the scar intersects with her hairline.

"My lady," he falters. Elves have always seemed to him to be so utterly impervious to the violence of the world that it is shocking to see her beautiful face scarred.

"I am still no lady," she says, shaking her head and smiling. "Come, there is a private spot nearby where we can sit together and watch the waterfalls."

She leads him to a small balcony, tucked back out of the way and sheltered by flowering trees from the full strength of the sun. Bilbo is too sensible to resent the care with which she helps him to sit on a low, cushioned bench. Such benches, too low to be perfectly comfortable for an Elf but sized just right for a Hobbit, began springing up like mushrooms soon after he arrived in Rivendell. He suspects the quietly efficient hand of Lindir in this phenomenon.

"I am pleased to see you, my friend. I have been away for several weeks hunting and had not heard that you were visiting Imladris." She tilts her head in that distinctively Elvish fashion, watching him closely.

"I decided it was high time to visit my old stomping grounds before... well, before. I had hoped to visit Mirkwood once more and perhaps even visit Erebor, but it seems that old age has caught up with me at last," Bilbo sighs. It seems that every morning he moves a little more stiffly and every night it is harder to fall asleep. 

Something at the back of his mind says that he would feel better if he still had his old ring, but Bilbo shoves that thought away. 

"Tauriel, I didn't think I would ever see you again once I realized I would not be visiting Mirkwood. What brings you to Rivendell?"

"Ah." She bows her head, the long strands of auburn and white hair spilling over her shoulder. "You would not have met me had you come to Mirkwood, my friend. I was banished after the battle."

Bilbo must not have heard her correctly. "You were what?"

"I disobeyed direct orders from my King and Prince in favor of aiding the Dwarves of Erebor." Her chin squares stubbornly as she adds, "Several times, in fact. King Thranduil banished me from the Forest Realm on the grounds of treason."

"You can't be serious. How could he banish you just for helping us? If I had known, I would have given the Elvenking such a scolding he wouldn't soon forget." Bilbo had actually respected Thranduil greatly by the end of it all, but that did not excuse him banishing Tauriel after all that she had done for them.

She laughs quietly, covering her smile with one hand. "Peace, friend Bilbo. There is no need for you to scold King Thranduil, though I would much enjoy seeing that."

"But how did you come to be in Rivendell?"

"I wandered for a time after I was banished. I hunted Orcs north towards Mount Gundabad and eventually ended up crossing the Misty Mountains and traveling south into the Ettenmoors. I encountered Lord Elrond's sons there, hunting Orcs, and we found that we made tolerable hunting companions. Lord Elrond was kind enough to offer me sanctuary in Rivendell. I think it pleases him to annoy King Thranduil so." 

They both chuckle at the thought.

She sighs and adds, "I miss my home and my people, but... truth be told, I could not have stayed in Mirkwood. Not after everything that happened."

The air suddenly seems colder, the sunlight fading and dim. In his mind he hears the echo of metal clanging against metal, of Wargs howling in the distance, of desperate shouts and dying screams. 

Bilbo shivers, drawing his shawl closer around his shoulders. "I understand. I myself am not sure that I could have brought myself to visit Erebor, even if my health would allow it. I left the day after... after the battle, and I have never returned."

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the soothing music of the waterfalls. Bilbo thinks that Tauriel, too, is remembering the desperate last stand of the House of Durin during what would later come to be known as the Battle of Five Armies. 

In his mind's eye, he can still see it as clear as day. Fíli falling in defense of his brother, bright blond hair soaked red with blood. Tauriel with her face slashed to the bone by an Orc's sword, desperately fighting to reach them. And Kíli--brave, bright-eyed, irrepressible Kíli--standing over Thorin's fallen body trying futilely to protect him from Azog's terrible wrath.

Tauriel had been the one to hamstring Azog, bringing him crashing to his knees, but it was Bilbo who had taken a flying leap and stabbed Azog through the heart with Sting. He could remember it perfectly: the shocked look in those pale blue eyes, and then the sheer cruelty crossing the Orc's face as he lurched forward and with his dying breath crushed Kíli's skull with his mace.

Thorin lay broken and terribly still on the ground, though he still clung to life, stubborn as ever. He would survive just long enough to tell Bilbo that he forgave him and apologize for the terrible things he had said and done while in the grip of madness.

Bilbo doesn't realize there are tears running down his face until he feels Tauriel gently brush his cheek with her fingers. Her hand is perfectly gentle against his papery, soft skin. 

"I remember that night we spent at Beorn's house. I told Thorin I was worried about the difference in our lifespans," Bilbo says. "I told him that I feared that I would die in a few short decades and leave him all alone. I never imagined that I'd be the one to spend sixty years mourning him."

" _Mellon nin_ ," she says, taking his age-spotted hand in hers. "I am so sorry."

"I wonder now if it was worth it. Perhaps it would have been better if we had never acted on the attraction at all. Is it truly better to have lost the one you love than to have never loved at all?" 

Perhaps if Bilbo had turned away and not met those piercing blue eyes across the campfire, perhaps if he had pulled away from the huge, warm hand on his shoulder, perhaps if he had never dared to love a Dwarven King... Perhaps then he would not have spent the last half century feeling like he too had died that day.

"Kíli and I--" Her voice breaks and she clears her throat before continuing, "We had one night together. We had barely seen each other all day, between setting up a camp for the survivors of Lake-Town and taking care of the wounded. Kíli was still recovering from the Morgul arrow and he was exhausted and in pain. 

"That night we curled up together on a patch of dry grass and talked for hours about silly things. Nothing serious, because the day had been too terrible and we just needed a reprieve from it all. We kissed and laughed together and it was... perfect. He fell asleep in my arms and I stayed awake and held him for the rest of the night.

"The next day, he was dead. And I will spend the rest of eternity remembering that single, perfect night."

He is shocked to see tears slipping down her cheeks. Elves have always seemed to him to be impervious to emotional pain; too strong to feel heartbreak like lowly mortals. Perhaps, he thinks, immortality means that they feel their losses _more_.

"Tauriel..."

"So do not tell me that it wasn't worth it, no matter how short your time was together. You know in your heart that it was."

"Thorin and I had two weeks together, give or take a few days." Two weeks from the bone-crushing embrace on the Carrock to the painful rattle of breath in Thorin's lungs as he held him one last time. "Two weeks of the most unexpected, perfect happiness, even with the giant spiders and the barrels and the _dragon_." (Bilbo doesn't count the time that Thorin spent under the Arkenstone's influence. That madness was not really him.)

"It was never enough time. It would never be enough time." Bilbo takes a deep, shaky breath. "But you're right. You're absolutely right. It was worth it."

She squeezes his hand wordlessly. He leans against her shoulder as they watch the light refracting through the spray of the waterfall.

"Tell me about them, please, if you can bear it," she says. "I want to hear their stories."

So he tells her the story of the unexpected dinner party and the time they were almost eaten by Trolls. She giggles when he tells her about the little tricks that Fíli and Kíli would play on Thorin in the mornings when he had just woken up. 

In return, she tells him about what happened after the Company left them in Lake-Town. She tells him of the night that Smaug rained down fire and terror, and Fíli and Kíli's bravery in saving Bard's children from the dragon's fire. 

It heals something in him to remember them not as he last saw them, lying cold and still in their crypt below the Lonely Mountain, but as they were in life: loyal, mischievous, and brave. Thorin had loved them so very much.

Somewhere nearby a harpist is playing something soft and mournful. Further off he can hear the bell-like tones of an Elf maiden's laughter. A gentle breeze sighs through the trees, flower petals drifting down on them like snow.

And for the first time in sixty years, Bilbo Baggins finally feels at peace.


End file.
